


if you were church, i'd get on my knees

by ventiplease



Category: My Favorite Murder (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Karen Kilgariff breaks my heart, Karen Kilgariff deserves good things, RPF, SSDGM, i have no idea where it's going beyond what i already have written, this is nothing but self-indulgent bullshit, won't you join me on this ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventiplease/pseuds/ventiplease
Summary: “It’ll never happen again because I’m an emotional lighthouse on the very tip of Maine, and I’ll be there forever.” -Karen Kilgariff
Relationships: Karen Kilgariff/OC





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got this little thing in my head that would not go away, so I decided to write it down. Dealer’s choice on when this takes place, but Karen does have her new teeth because they make her happy.

**_ you’re crashing but you’re no wave _ **

Karen and Georgia love live shows. The buzzing energy, makeup and nails in a rush before going on stage, the cookies and cakes and gifts from fans brought in by venue staff (“You’re welcome, Ms. Kilgariff. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”), the applause that goes on and on and on  _ and on _ . It is her job to get standing ovations, for shit’s sake.

People  _ needing _ to touch and hug and tell their stories. Hands shaking and eyes wide in disbelief that  _ she _ , Karen Kilgariff herself, is standing in front of them, all flushed skin and piercing blue eyes and every bit of her attention on their excited “You won’t  _ believe _ this,” then a story about something messed right the fuck up, Georgia gasping beside her. A pose, a picture ( _ don’t forget to suck in, for fuck’s sake _ ). Then the next one, and the next, through nearly every major city, at least once. So many people, for years, just giving and giving and giving.

Karen gets  _ fucking high _ from it.

She can’t have alcohol anymore, but she can have this. She revels in it and it fills her up, until barely anything feels missing. It is all she needs. Most of the time, she thinks it is enough. Most of the time, she thinks  _ she _ is enough. Finally.  _ Finally. _

But after the shows is an entirely different story.

After the shows, well. Too much food, too much adrenaline, too much discomfort from those dreadful Spanx, too much coffee, sometimes too much attention, though Karen will never admit that. People taking everything she has to offer and reaching for things she doesn’t. But even with all that, she will admit, it is hard to come down from the high. The fall is always the worst.

It is hard to go back to her room alone. There are nights the loneliness makes her heart feel like it is literally withering away, slowly being poisoned by a suffering cocktail of touch starvation and a desperate, aching sadness. She hates herself for it, for thinking that this, all of this, everything she and Georgia have built together, isn’t enough.

They are in the lobby of their hotel. Georgia and Vince, handsy and leaning into one another, and Karen, with them but acutely aware of being alone. Just an hour prior, she had been at the center of it all. Now, she stands in the creeping shadow of solitude as the night stretches out before her.

“Stay sexy!” a female voice yells from behind them while they’re talking and waiting for the elevator. Karen turns just in time to see a slight 20-something with purple hair and a tall blonde waving and heading out the front lobby doors. Maybe they were from the meet-and-greet earlier, but she already has forgotten individual faces in the blur. She and Georgia turn at the same time and both throw their hands up, waving.

She thinks of the sleeping pills in her bag back up in the room. Maybe she’ll order room service first, a little Forensic Files or Law & Order while she eats and gets ready for bed. Or maybe she’ll just eat junk and feel like shit and pass out without changing clothes.

Vince cracks a joke, and Georgia and Karen both laugh. None of them notice the man standing behind them, but he notices them. He notices  _ her _ .

\---

**_ your slightest look easily will unclose me _ **

****

He’s waiting for the elevator as well, and has already decided to let the trio in front of them have their own car. He’ll wait for the next one. He’s not much into people after a long day.

The two women and the man in front of him are clearly all here together, but he can tell which two are involved. He doesn’t take much notice of any of them beyond how much he usually surveys his surroundings, and he continues texting with his eldest son. He is mid-sentence about dinner arrangements for next Sunday when he is compelled to raise his head.

One of the women is laughing, and  _ my god _ , it is so open and infectious and beautiful that he smiles, and he doesn’t want to look away. She tucks her shiny black hair behind her ear, says something else, and all three of them laugh again. Her head thrown back, her laugh full-throated and generous, he is instantly attracted to her.

He can only see her in profile, and he is drawn to the way her mouth moves when she talks. He likes her smooth skin. He likes her dark hair. Her smoky voice filters through the air and he is transfixed, and when she reaches out to grab the other woman’s arm in shared mirth, he wants nothing else but to know her name.

The elevator chimes and they all get on. She catches his eye as the doors begin to close, the ghost of a smile still on her face. She is even more beautiful than her profile let on, and he feels a mysterious pull to her. Her eyes catch his, he sees her features shift into seriousness, and then the doors close and she is gone.

What the  _ fuck _ was that? He stands arrested in contemplation for several seconds, then decides to take the stairs.

On the way, several young women end up walking in front of him briefly and a cartoon likeness on the back of one of their sweatshirts catches his eye, along with some words, and he immediately pulls out his phone to consult the internet.

He types “stay sexy and don’t get murdered” into the search bar, and there they are. Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. Surely, he thinks, that is too easy, but he’s been in law enforcement for almost thirty years, he knows how to match a photograph to a face, and that is definitely her.

It is several hours later, way past when he should already be asleep, but he cannot stop clicking through links and reading. He is a few pages into a Google search when he can’t hold his eyes open any longer. Her dulcet tones are in his ear as he drifts off, and he rests better than he has in weeks.

****

\---

****

**_ you wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up and slit your throat _ **

****

He has not been able to stop thinking about her all morning. While he is having coffee, while he is in the shower, while he is getting dressed, he is turning her over and over in his mind, not to mention listening to randomly selected episodes of her podcast. He knows who she is now and  _ technically _ he has access to the resources to find her, but that isn’t the way he would like this to go down. That feels like cheating.

He heads down the hall with an air pod in one ear, laughing to himself. Trophy, he thinks. The word is trophy.

The elevator doors open for him to get on and he freezes, because there she is, right in front of him. She’s looking down at her phone. He can’t believe his luck. He steps inside, sees that the button for the lobby is already lit up, and glances over at her out of the corner of his eye. He stands an appropriate distance away and considers how to begin. You better talk fast, he tells himself.

He leans down toward her and says conspiratorially, “I like your podcast.”

She gives him her attention then, and looks amused when she turns toward him fully. “Oh yeah? You’re not our usual demographic. What’s your name?” she offers her hand.

“I’m Grant.” They shake hands.

“Hi, I’m Karen. Nice to meet you. You have a wife or a daughter who makes you listen, Grant?” she asks smiling, her eyes sparkling.

“No, actually. I, uh-- I just started listening last night,” he says a little hesitantly, feeling a bit self-conscious about it for some reason.

She laughs. “Oh,” she looks amused. “How did that happen?”

“I actually saw you in the lobby first and then sort of...” he isn’t sure how to explain it, so he gestures ambiguously, ”...happened across it later.”

She takes it in stride and is all smiles and laughs. “Well, I’m glad you found us. I hope you continue to enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will.” There is a pause in the conversation and he feels the air shift. “Listen, I hope this isn’t inappropriate or weird, but... I’d love to take you to dinner tonight, if you’re free.”

“Um,” she kind of squints and tilts her head, and he can tell he’s taken her by surprise. Her body language doesn’t indicate that she is unhappy, however. She looks genuinely confused.

They are interrupted by the doors opening and two other people boarding. They step closer together against the back wall and are quiet for the rest of the ride. He notices her glance over at him surreptitiously several times. He smiles to himself. He’s nearly a head taller than she is, so he can sneak looks at her more easily than she can him.

When they reach the lobby and step off, he turns to her and reaches into his breast pocket. “Here’s my card. My cell is on there. I’ll be here for a few more nights and I’d love to hear from you, if you’re interested.” She takes it and looks down briefly before meeting his eyes again. He cannot decipher the look on her face. “If you’re not, that’s obviously okay, too,” he winks to lighten the moment.

She smiles and tucks his card into the front pocket of the purse that’s hanging off her arm. She looks around, seemingly to gather her thoughts. “I’m not  _ not _ interested,” she says carefully, almost like a question.

“Well, I am totally free in the evenings,” he opens his palms as if to say, ‘What have you got to lose?’

She nods once. “Okay.” They gaze at each other for a brief moment and he marvels at how time seems to tick by a bit slower. He welcomes the chance to just stare at her. He is mesmerized by how impossibly blue her eyes are.

A text tone cuts through the air and she glances down at her phone. “I’m sorry,” she looks back up at him, the spell broken. “I’ve gotta go,” she gestures over her shoulder.

He nods. “Of course. It was nice to meet you,” he says sincerely, and offers his hand again.

“It was nice to meet you, too.”

“Hey. I’m serious about dinner,” he says it earnestly while holding onto her hand for a few seconds too long.

“Okay. Yeah. Maybe.” And with that, she turns and walks away.

She is all shiny dark hair and full hips and thick thighs and his heart pounds  _ more _ ,  _ more _ ,  _ more _ as he watches her go.


	2. Chapter 2

**_ get busy living or get busy dying _ **

****

Karen manages to wait until her feet hit the pavement outside the hotel before pulling out her phone.

“You aren’t gonna fuckin’  _ believe _ this shit,” she says as soon as Georgia says hello.

On her way to find coffee, she tells Georgia everything that happened with Grant. Georgia squeals with delight, “Karen! Oh my god! You have to text him! What does he look like?! Is he cute?  _ Karen. _ ” Georgia cannot deal.

She feels thirteen again as she describes him and her imagination is in overdrive already about every little detail. Yes, he’s good looking. Roughly her age, she guesses. Dark hair, tall, looks basically in shape but not, like, in  _ super _ shape, and of course he has a beard. They all have beards these days.

She pulls out the card he gave her (A goddamn real-life  _ detective _ is interested in  _ her _ !) while she’s sitting at a table outside the first Starbucks she happened upon. She’s got her comfort coffee in one hand and she’s staring at his card in the other, she and Georgia riffing gleefully through the what-ifs, daydreaming out loud together.

It isn’t long before anxiety and self-doubt hits, and it’s a punch to the stomach. What could he want with  _ her _ ? She’s not pretty enough or thin enough or smart enough or  _ anything enough _ to go through with whatever she has already imagined could happen.

Georgia, ever the great wingman, talks her down and encourages her to  _ at least  _ text him. But text him  _ what _ ? All she fuckin’ knows about him is his name and that he’s a detective in San Bernardino. What in the ever loving shit could a handsome cop want with  _ her _ ? Could he really want to have dinner? Would he be okay with dinner but no sex? Because she can’t fuck him, her anxiety wouldn’t allow it.

“You should do it,” Georgia is oozing encouragement and excitement, her voice dancing with joy over this Brand New Development. “Have dinner! Have a one-night stand if it turns into that, Karen. Come on! I think you’ll wonder too much if you don’t  _ at least _ text him. Or you could call him! You have to.” To Georgia, it is final.

Karen busts out laughing. She is  _ absolutely _ not going to  _ call _ him.

She wraps up with Georgia and texts her sister a truncated version of the story and adds “CALL ME ASAP I AM LOSING MY SHIT” at the end.

She reads his card for the tenth time in as many minutes. His name is Grant M. Hayes, he is a detective ( _ what the fuuuuck _ , she laughs, amused at the whole scenario), and his badge number is SB022853. She figures that unless this is an elaborate prank, nothing is amiss, and she can, at the very least, report him for being a fucking creep if he turns into one. She stares at his card for a while before opening a blank text message.

She types several different messages and closes each one. She puts her phone down, resolute in kneecapping all the little tendrils of possibility because _this is just ridiculous_ , but she cannot help herself and grabs it again immediately.  What the fuck to even say?! She searches his name online and comes up with a few pictures. A cursory glance through the search results don’t give her any pause. He doesn’t appear to have been involved in any controversial goings on.

She finally adds him as a contact, types out a quick: “This is Karen Kilgariff. Now you have my number,” and her adrenaline spikes when she hits send. Her head is spinning and she feels like she is coming out of her skin.  _ Ohfuckohfuckohfuck _ .

\---

**_ the deep end one dives in _ **

****

They’ve been texting off and on for a few hours (get-to-know-you conversation, pictures of her dogs, pictures of his sons and his cat, various and sundry details about their lives). Grant wants to ask her again if she has any plans for the evening. Call him old fashioned, but he’d rather ask over the phone. Making a date over text message feels too juvenile; he’s forty-nine years old, for Christ’s sake. He also has to admit, he wants to do it via phone call because he likes the sound of her voice.

So, he calls her. It rings a few times before it goes to voicemail. He texts her: “I’d like to talk when you have a second.”

Several minutes go by before she types back, ”Sorry. I was busy,” which is the biggest goddamn lie. She deliberately did not take his call.  _ Who the hell wants to talk on the phone?! Not me, friend! _ She let it ring a reasonable amount of times before hitting NO THANKS.

“Can you talk now?” he sends back.

Minutes tick by.

She types, “Sure,” when what she really wants to type is, ‘No way and fuck off forever.’ Her heart is fucking pounding.  _ Fuckfuckfuuuuck.  _ She cannot handle this.

She thinks of Georgia telling her to go for it. She thinks of Laura, who also told her she’d be a goddamn idiot if she didn’t keep an open mind and give him a shot.

_ “It’s one dinner, Karen. You don’t have to marry the man. Jeez-us. You’re always so dramatic,” _ she could practically hear the exasperated eye roll.

__

Her phone rings in her hand and she almost throws it across the room.

“Hello,” she covers her eyes with her hand.  _ Chill the fuck out and don’t say anything stupid. Anyway, remember that time you said you were going to start saying yes more? _

“Hey. So, listen. I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy, but I did want to ask you one more time if you’d like to have dinner tonight?”

Karen shakes her head, even though he cannot see it. “Sorry, I can’t. I have a show.” She is relieved to have an excuse, but also maybe a little bummed. _ So much for saying yes. _

“You have a show. Okay,” he says, ready to negotiate around it.

“Yeah, we-- a live show. We’re actually on tour right now... for the podcast.”

“How ‘bout after your show?” he is undeterred.

“It’ll be pretty late.” She knows she’s not making a great case for him to keep persisting, but she is conflicted. She wants to and she doesn’t at the same time. Her anxiety about all this is through the goddamn roof. It feels like there are worms in her belly.

He doesn’t miss a beat: “I’ll be up.”

She can’t decide how to respond and the silence stretches on.

“Hello?” he says.

_I think that’s the most romantic thing, just having someone think about you,_ she said something like that once. Well _,_ someone is thinking about her now, and she’s about to crash this plane before it can even get off the ground.

“I’m here. Sorry, I’m--”  _ such a fuckin’ disaster  _ ”--I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“You don’t eat dinner?” he jokes, and she is grateful for the break in the tension.

Her heartbeat slows and she considers. He just sounds  _ kind _ , and she thinks of their elevator ride this morning, and she thinks of Georgia and being vulnerable and all the times she’s said she would like to be loved again, and she lets go a little.

“I don’t get asked out to dinner by handsome men, no. Not as a rule. I don’t know how to handle this. I  _ want _ to, but this is  _ so _ goddamn nerve wracking.”  _ Ha! How’s that for vulnerability? _

Grant feels twenty feet tall when she calls him handsome. He stands a little straighter. He gets a little bolder.

“Well, it’s not like I go around asking a lot of women out. This isn’t normal practice for me. The last time I went out to dinner with someone was over a year ago, and she asked me. The majority of my meals out are with my kids.” He lets that sit for a second, but not long enough for her to talk.

“And don’t think I won’t be flying high on that handsome comment for at least a week,” he smiles so she can hear it, and he feels like his heart is going to float out of his chest when she laughs, too, all throaty and wonderful.

“We won’t be back until close to midnight. We have meet-and-greets after our shows. If you really want to wait that late to have dinner...” she trails off. She realizes she’s falling back into her old trusty pattern of push them away nine times and make them come back ten. She shakes her head at herself,  _ why do you do this? _

“I have nothing going on tomorrow, just a meeting the next day that I have to attend. I’m good to be up all night. We could order room service, you know,” he tries not to sound  _ too _ suggestive, but his voice drops an octave of its own accord. He also tries not to think about touching her and kissing her and undressing her (‘I’m good to be up all night’ indeed), but the thoughts flash unbidden into his head anyway.

“We could,” she confirms, calm-but-undecided, and her head feels light.  _ Ohjesusfuckingchrist. _

“Or I could get food and bring it to you, or we can go somewhere. I’m open to anything,” he backtracks quickly, letting her decide. Spending time with her anywhere, doing anything, would be perfectly fine with him.

“Actually, room service sounds kind of nice.” It comes out of her mouth at the same time it pops into her head and she almost shits her pants.  _ WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!  _ She is losing her fucking mind.

Laura’s voice from earlier pops into her head,  _ “Just do dinner. Maybe make out. When’s the last time you just made out with someone? Hell, maybe get to third base. Live a little. It could be fun!”  _ And then Laura got more serious: “ _ You deserve good things, Karen.”  _ Jesus. She can’t fucking breathe.

__

“Yeah,” she says, momentarily confident and self-possessed: she is Making a Plan. ”Let’s do that, we’ll order something to the room. It’ll be nice.” She immediately wonders if he’s a good kisser. She admonishes herself for thinking that  _ that _ will happen and tries to shut it off, but then she’s thinking about fingers in her hair and hands cupping her face and palms groping her ass and  _ good god, it’s been so long _ .

“Okay,” he plays it cool, but he finds himself feeling a bit nervous already. “So, listen, call or text me later when you can. We can figure out the rest tonight.”

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later.” Fuck it, maybe she can get her shit together enough to take advantage,  _ if _ the opportunity should present itself.

“Good luck with your show. And hey,” he pauses for effect, “Stay sexy, Ms. Kilgariff.”

They’re both laughing when they hang up.

\---

****

**_ you’re cinematic razor sharp, a welcome arrow through the heart _ **

****

They’ve made plans to meet in her hotel room after the show. She doesn’t even know how she got through the night, but she did, though she felt like a frenzied lunatic for parts of it. She can’t even remember telling the first half of her murder. She has no idea what Georgia’s story was even about anymore.

Georgia, God bless her. She has been patient and unfailing in her support all night and Karen could not be more thankful. And Vince. Well, he has been waggling his eyebrows at her every chance he gets.

“So,  _ Grant _ , eh?” he said, suggestively, as soon as he saw her earlier, ribbing.

Georgia shot her an apologetic look and exclaimed, “He’s my husband, I tell him everything!”

But Karen doesn’t really care if Vince knows. It eases her nerves, honestly, the teasing. It gives her something else to concentrate on. Time is moving too fast and too slow all at once.

She wonders what Grant is doing right now. Has he been anxious all day? Do detectives even get anxious about stupid shit like this, she wonders? He’s seemed fairly confident so far. The thought of letting him (or anyone) get to really know her and all her weird anxieties just makes her  _ so goddamn tired _ . She’s too old for this shit.

There’s a car waiting to take them back to the hotel. As they’re gathering their things in the green room and getting ready to head out, a member of the theater staff pops his head in and stretches his arm out toward Karen. In his hand is a single long stem red rose.

“Ms. Kilgariff, this came for you.”

Karen is speechless. There is a note attached: ‘I was going to send a dozen, but I don’t even know if you like roses. -Grant’

She busts out laughing and Georgia clambers across the room to read it while Vince looks over her shoulder.

“ _ Karen _ ,” Georgia gasps and grabs her arm.

Karen can do nothing but smile and shake her head.


End file.
